Spirit and Dust - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,103

squealed. Or maybe I’d made that sound, because he eased off, but didn’t let go. “You need to stop scaring the crap out of me, Jailbait.”

Yeah, I probably needed to stop hugging him, especially if he was going to call me that. But the uncomplicated security felt so good that I let myself indulge a moment longer. It was a good thing no one else was there, or my badass image would be wrecked forever.

Wait. Why were we alone?

I straightened so fast that I almost knocked Taylor in the jaw. “Where’s Captain Fatigues?”

He didn’t ask who I meant. In a practiced motion he pushed me behind him with one hand, and pulled his firearm with the other. “Stay back.”

Like hell I would. I knew how many man-eaters there were out there. And that was just the lions.

The reading room was all red and black shadows, as macabre as a horror movie set. It took me a moment to realize the puddle of darkness beside the first table was a sprawled body. Ignoring Taylor’s warning, I hurried toward it and found Captain Fatigues down but not dead. He was deeply unconscious, maybe even whammied.

“Don’t shoot!”

The words came from the inky rectangle of the open hall door. A female voice. A petite figure stepped into the room, spiky platinum hair dyed crimson by the light.

Taylor kept his weapon trained on the punk-rock witch, even after he recognized her. “You were at Maguire’s house.”

“Of course I was.” She took another step into the room, and as she did, she seemed to leave her skin behind. The illusion burst gently, like a dandelion puff in the wind. All that remained was the real girl, one I’d only seen in photographs.

Alexis Maguire.

“He’s my dear old dad, after all.”

33

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” asked Taylor, obviously unsure if he should keep his gun aimed at her or not. “That looks like Alexis Maguire.”

“I think it is.” After all the shocks of the night, I felt numb, hollowed out, and spent. Maybe that was why the pieces fit together so easily. The dandelion-puff bits of illusion hung in the air, smelling of lakeside mud and blood spatter. “Did you kill your bodyguard for the power to make that disguise?”

She shrugged. “It had to be good enough to fool Carson. He can be reluctant about the messy stuff. And I figured you’d get along better if you sensed his sincere worry about me.”

I allowed myself to feel a moment of relief that Carson didn’t know everything, that he’d been played, too. “Was there ever a real Lauren?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Alexis, with a chilling lack of concern. “But she had to go, too. She was a little too insightful.”

Taylor put it together more quickly than I’d have thought. But then, I’d warned him it was world-class weird. “So … you faked your own kidnapping?”

“Obviously.” She caught the confusion that flashed over my face. “Questions, Miss Goodnight? I’ll let you ask a few.”

I voiced the one foremost in my mind. “How did someone as smart as you end up taking orders from someone like Michael Johnson? He’s the leader of the Brotherhood, right?”

Annoyance twisted her features. “I let him think he was. But once we’d identified all the pieces of Oosterhouse, I had my own plan. I knew that moron Johnson would make an unholy mess of things, which he has.” The cool slipped back into place. “Still, it’s not unsalvageable. And he has his uses. A priestess needs acolytes.”

Taylor spared me the barest glance, keeping an eagle eye on Alexis. “What’s she talking about?”

I fumbled for a quick explanation, but Alexis spoke first. “I’m sorry, Agent Taylor. There’s really not time to bring you up to speed. Why don’t you take a little nap?”

She merely nodded and Taylor collapsed, and my heart with him. I was just barely fast enough to keep his head from hitting the floor. His gun fell out of reach with a clatter.

“He’ll be all right,” Alexis assured me as I felt for his breath and pulse. “He’s a strong one. And cute. No wonder Carson sounded so jealous.”

I ignored her jabs and lowered Taylor gently, then stood, taking back the height advantage. It was the only one I had. While I was at it, I felt around for Aunt Ivy and got only the faintest resonance. I pushed back fear for her with hope that she had sense to retreat.

“How much does Carson know?” I asked. “Not, I assume, that you’re a cast-iron bitch